


Hope In The Darkness

by gaialux



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier stop for the night.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Hope In The Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coaldustcanary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaldustcanary/gifts).



> Takes place sometime after Eternal Flame.

“ _Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of plenty..._ ”

“We’re not in a tavern or inn. Must you keep singing?”

Jaskier stops singing and gazes up at Geralt. He doesn’t slow his pace. “It’s important for the fans to have me at my best. They’re your fans too, Geralt — don’t forget.”

Geralt turns to Jaskier, not caring if he can read the disgust in his sneer. Even Roach’s ears are flattening. “I. Don’t. Care.”

With a simple shrug, Jaskier resumes his song. “ _ For we travel ‘round the continent, killing monsters with nay an apology— _ “

Geralt nudges Roach into a trot and forces Jaskier into a run. It shuts him up from singing but not from complaining.

“Seriously?” Jaskier calls, halfway to breathless already. “You know there’s room enough for two on that back.”

“Roach only responds to me,” Geralt says. He doesn’t slow.

The sun is slowly beginning to set behind the mountain range in front of them and Geralt knows Roast needs rest. Jaskier, too, but he won’t let the bard knows he cares at all about his wellbeing. He pulls Roach back to a walk when Jaskier’s huffing and puffing is louder than the horse’s feet on earth.

“Thank you,” Jaskier gasps out. “But seriously? Not cool.”

“The exercise is good for you,” Geralt says. He heads off the main path and into thinning grass and trees. As his eyes adjust to the dark he can see a decent stretch of sandbar and heads there. “Helps your lungs.”

“Where are you?” Jaskier’s voice raises a pitch.

For a brief second Geralt considers not answering. So used to travelling alone he quickly forgets the lack of night vision and attuned senses of his companion. “Here. Follow my voice. Take Roach’s bridle.”

Jaskier comes stumbling through the brush with a voice choice words before finally running his hand along Roach’s side. He grabs Geralt’s boot.

“ _ Bridle _ , Bard,” Geralt growls.

“Bridle. Right.” He continues up until Geralt can feel a pull on the reins.

“Come on then,” Geralt says. “Almost there.”

* * *

Whilst Geralt gets a fire growing, Jaskier begins again to sing.

“ _ The Witcher rests upon the earth, companion and steed by his side— _ “ he pauses. “I don’t like that line, not poetic enough.”

“I don’t like it, either,” Geralt mutters into the fire.

“Any suggestions?”

“None whatsoever.”

Jaskier gives a dramatic sigh and drops down next to Geralt. He strums the lute, a melancholy tone surrounding them both.

“Where to next?” he asks finally.

The fire crackles and throws sparks up into the air as Geralt throws on another log. It’s almost completely dark elsewhere.

“You are welcome to go wherever you please,” Geralt says. “Maybe you could make your way back to Novigrad? Enough people to make you a few coin.”

“And try my luck with a mimic?” Jaskier snorts. “Pox on that.”

Geralt smiles softly and strokes the fire. He has no doubt Jaskier will end up back — either in that town or another — trying to seduce any half attractive woman he comes across. The music and money are secondary.

“You’re welcome to continue riding with me,” Geralt says. “But I can’t promise no monsters.”

“I’d never dream of it,” Jaskier says. “I expect monsters. I expect your world.”

It’s true, Geralt realises. Jaskier has stuck by him for years. Somehow always returning, always at least trying to fight beside him. 

“Hard life for a bard,” Geralt says finally. 

All Jaskier responds with is a snort.

If Geralt wanted to, he could narrow his pupils and take in the world around him through the dark. But something stops him. Maybe it’s the peace and quiet he’s found here only cut through with their voices and Roach’s soft snorts. 

He’s acutely aware of how close he and Jaskier are sitting. Legs touching with only two layers of thin cloth between. Jaskier is starring at him. Geralt can sense it but that knowledge doesn’t take a Witcher’s training. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Geralt turns more fully to look at Jaskier. Then everything moves fast and slow all at once. 

Jaskier takes hold of Geralt’s face between both his hands. Geralt doesn’t move. His training tells him to reach back and unsheathe his sword — hold it up against Jaskier’s neck and demand the bard unhand him. But there’s always been some other small, screaming part of his brain that didn’t mutate. His heart. His emotions. Yen was able to extract them and now...just maybe.

Jaskier’s lips are warm as they touch against Geralt’s. Urgent and incessant they push Geralt’s apart and deepen the kiss.

They end up in the brambles and shoots of grass rising from the clearing’s floor. Jaskier pressed against Geralt and grinding against him. Always wanting more, wanting to get to the point of things. So very Jaskier. He breaks away but only to speak.

“So have you got anything in that there mystical saddle bag of yours to help ease the way?”

The words jolt through Geralt. Joined by the buzz of electricity when he takes in the expanse of Jaskier’s body and settles at the bulge in his birches.

“Are you truly surprised?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt can’t find a response. He’s never understood friendship or love — not properly. Everything came back to tales about destiny or how a witcher was supposed to hunt and protect. Nothing more.

So he rolls away and goes to his saddlebag, rummaging around potions and elixirs until he finds one he thinks will work and hurries back to Jaskier who is already tackling his pants off.

“Let me help,” Geralt says and it strikes him how thick his voice is. How protected.

Together they pull off Jaskier’s jerkin and pants. He’s naked and positioned with his upper body upon Geralt’s saddle. It’s a beautiful sight. Geralt doesn’t know how to express the thought in words.

“Your turn,” Jaskier says.

Methodically, Geralt disrobes. Eyes darting around even though he knows they are alone. He leaves on his medallion which vibrates ever so slightly and goes back to Jaskier who’s already got an arm reaching up and pulling Geralt back to him. Their lips meet again.

Geralt unscrews the cork on his bottle with shaking hands and pours more than he planned to onto his fingers. “Fuck,” he murmurs. What is he even doing?

“Here, Geralt,” Jaskier says. His own voice is different; hushed, subdued. He guides Geralt’s fingers inside him and this,  _ this _ is what Geralt is doing. A few shuddered breaths from both of them before Geralt swaps fingers for what both of them truly want.

The earth, at least for a few moments, is silent.

But Jaskier never. Shuts. Up. for long. Soon Geralt works out how to filter his incessant narrative —

is he  _ really _ working on song lyrics about this event?

— and focus instead on the sounds behind the words. The way Jaskier’s voice catches with each of Geralt’s inward thrusts. The world around them is quiet but for the low buzzing of insects and grazing animals. No monsters. No humans. The world is theirs.

“Geralt— Geralt—“ Breaks through the Witcher’s thoughts.

Geralt grips a hand around Jaskier’s member and presses harder inside him. They move as one for those last few, perfect thrusts before spilling out. Jaskier moans high and long into the night air and Geralt can’t help the sounds that escape his own throat. 

* * *

The fire is dying down. The world growing darker. Geralt pulls the piled wool blanket up tighter around them. Jaskier is already snoring softly and Geralt, as gently as he can, allows himself to smooth over his hair.


End file.
